


Quatervois

by TheMarkOfEyghon



Series: Quondam [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Season 3 rewrite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:28:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26281939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMarkOfEyghon/pseuds/TheMarkOfEyghon
Summary: Cordelia Chase has suffered the ultimate betrayal at the hands of her boyfriend and been left no better than a social leper cut off from both her old friends and her new ones with nothing to keep her company but the wax that's melting from her wings. But Ms. Jenkins, the new school guidance counselor, is confident that she has a solution that'll give Cordelia everything that she could have ever wished for.
Relationships: Anya Jenkins / Jenny Calendar
Series: Quondam [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1909621
Comments: 19
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

> **Quatervois**   
>  **(n.) a critical decision or turning point in one’s life**   
>  **❈❈❈❈**

**_Cordelia’s riding shotgun in a chariot of fire._ **

That’s what it feels like to her, anyway, when she makes the left turn into the loop-around that leads into the student parking lot. The breeze that’s kicked up at this speed is a light tease that makes her stylish up-do artfully mussed and not completely ruined. Her lips are stained with a lipstick that her father had special ordered for her from Paris out of a makeup line that hasn’t even been released yet and those are real diamonds in her earrings. The skirt that she carefully shimmied into this morning is real leather and so is the jacket that’s artfully unbuttoned to give the ensemble a flirty splash of burgundy from her top. The shoes are her feet are alligator high heel d’Orsay pumps and the bag on her shoulder is Prada to match. It’s perfect. 

She’s perfect, down to the last, lingering detail. 

No one would look at her and suspect that underneath these skin-tight clothes she’s sporting a bandage over the hole in her stomach that was ripped through her by a piece of pipe and stitched shut by the fumbling hand of a doctor who definitely hadn’t been wearing that stethoscope long enough as far as she was concerned. 

No one would see her and think that she’d been up until sunrise, worrying over her outfit and practicing her lines. Imagining everything that people would say to her so that she’d have a demure acceptance of sympathy to give to every guy who stopped and wished her well to hide the fact that they were ogling her and a scathing one-liner to rip down anyone who’d even think the name “Xander Harris” within fifteen feet of her.

And that’s exactly how she wants it as she slowly steps out of her cherry-red convertible in a way that she hopes looks sensual and not like she’s at all bothered by the twinge of pain in her stomach. This is not going to be her walk of shame, she tells herself as she pushes the car door shut behind herself and strides forward. This is her triumphant return to a throne she temporarily abdicated and everyone who worshiped her before is going to hit their knees again because she’s Cordelia Chase and there’s practically divinity in that name. 

Her claws are out and perfectly polished. She’s ready to sink them into the first person who approaches. 

…But no one does. 

Her heels click against the ground in a rhythm that clearly sings, “Here comes the Queen” but no one’s even looking at her. There’s not a slack-jawed expression of awe, not even from the doofuses that would’ve been soaked in their own drool for seeing her in an outfit less perfect than this. There’s not a single fearful side-eye from the freshmen girls who breeze by. There’s not even quick glances and whispers. 

It’s like she’s invisible. 

Her stride stutters from confident to unsure. She can feel that imaginary crown on her head tilting to the side. Seven days. Seven FREAKING days. That’s how long she’d been out. A whole week — she’d expect more than half the school to be dropping rose petals before her every step when she returned. She’d almost died. Where’s the support, people?

“Cordelia!” 

Finally. Someone’s acknowledging her. And, yeah, it’s Harmony and Cordy had really hoped she’d have a gaggle of football players surrounding her before this particular showdown but the relief that she feels to see anyone acknowledge her existence, let alone smile at her, is enough that she doesn’t care if this isn’t going exactly how she rehearsed it with herself; doesn’t care that she’s standing alone and Harmony is the one who’s flanked by a flock of girls in stylish knockoffs. 

“You look amazing!” 

Straightening her spine, Cordelia leans for a hug without actually touching her and gives her a kiss on both cheeks. Cultured with ease, pretending that it isn’t killer to lean forward like that. “Tell me something I don’t know, Harm.” 

“God, Cordy…” Harmony leans back first, blue eyes wide. “When I heard about… Well, I mean, I couldn’t believe it. But it was smart. You know, the injury thing? You take a week off, let everybody forget about the temporary insanity that as Xander Harris…” 

She’d been bracing herself for the fact that she’d have to hear his name. Maybe that she’d even have to see him, sulking in the hallway like a stupid, lost puppy just like he had the last time she’d dumped him. But it still hurts. It knocks the air out of her lungs with a hit like a punch from a prized fighter and her retort is half-a-second too late. “Xander who?” 

The laughter that titters up from Harmony’s herd of sheep is fake and awkward, but it’s better than standing alone so Cordelia is willing to grin it bear it. Even as Aura of all people steps forward and talks without Cordelia having first acknowledged her existence. 

“You know what you have to do? Start dating! Get back on the horse!” 

There’s actually nothing on the entirety of planet earth that Cordelia wants to do less, except maybe agree to experimental dentistry performed by an orangutan with a pair of rusty pliers. “Oh, absolutely! I am ready to ride.” 

“Then I have just the stallion,” Harmony says. She takes Cordelia by the arm and the brief moment of warmth that comes from being so close to the girl that had once been her best friend chips away at a little more of the ice that had been in her stomach. “He’s so you.” 

Cordelia walks with her when Harmony starts to pull, eyes peeled for something tall, dark, and edible that she hadn’t given the time of day previously… but that expectant expression on her face tightens into disbelief when Harmony gestures at Jonathan where he’s sitting on the outside stairs, sipping at a soda that he nearly spills down the front of himself when he realizes that they’re gathered around to look at him. 

Harmony giggles and her laughter is echoed by a chorus from the knockoff gang. “I’m pretty sure he won’t cheat on you. At least, not for a while. Plus? He’s got a killer -” 

“Ah-hem.” 

A voice interruptions Cordelia’s death by total and utter humiliation and all of them turn their heads at once to see a woman holding a clipboard standing in the entrance to the breezeway. There’s a smile on her face but disdain in her gaze as she walks forward, her heels clicking against the walkway. 

“Is there a problem here, girls?” 

“No!” Harmony says, her voice raising an octave to hit that pitch she gets when she wants to cute her way out of trouble. “Of course not. We were just saying hello to Cordelia, Ms. Jenkins. She’s been out for so long and we wanted to make sure she knew that we hadn’t forgotten about her.” 

“Well, I’m sure that she appreciates the gesture,” the woman said, not looking like she was wholly convinced that was all that was going on but Cordelia wasn’t about to correct her. She could fight her own battles. “But you girls better get moving. The same goes for you, Jonathan. You don’t want to be late for first period.” 

“Of course, Ms. Jenkins.” Harmony’s smile is bright enough to light up a dark room and Cordelia’s palm itches with the violent desire to slap it off of her face. Especially when she turns those blue eyes in Cordy’s direction and her voice drips with subtext. “See you later, Cordelia. If you’re free for lunch… what am I talking about? Of course, you will be.” 

They move like a pack of hyenas away from her, then, dissolving into giggles as they go and Cordelia adjusts the bag on her shoulder and swallows hard against the lump in her throat, willing herself not to give into the tears that are just below the surface of her mask of self-assured calm. There’s no way that she’s going to let Harmony of all people make her breakdown. 

“Cordelia?” Ms. Jenkins, whoever she is, suddenly places her hand on Cordelia’s shoulder from behind and she turns her head, ready to snap… but there’s something like kindness in her eyes and the words die on the tip of her tongue. “You’ve been out of school, so we missed the window of proper introduction. I’m Ms. Jenkins, I’m filling in as the school counselor. Actually, I was hoping to see you today. I understand that you’ve recently gone through a hard time and I’d like it if we could get to know each other and maybe talk about how you’re feeling before you integrate fully back into your usual school work.” 

Right. Cause that’s all she needs now. Time in the school counselor’s office. She’d rather be laughed at during class than -

“Oh, is that a Prada bag?” 

…Okay, maybe she can reconsider her stance. The plastic smile that she’d forced her lips to curl into softens into something more real. “Good call! Most people around here can’t tell Prada from Payless.” 

“Well, I lived in L.A for quite a while. You pick things up. I actually own a few myself… but that’s just a secret between you and me, okay? I can’t burst the bubbles of all the students who think that we staff members live in our offices and don’t know anything about the big, scary world outside.” 

“You’re from L.A?” Cordelia asks, her expectations about this woman rising by the minute. Maybe it actually wouldn’t be so bad to pop into her office for a little conversation. She’s from the city, she knows about Prada, and her skin is flawless so she obviously had a good morning routine. If it wasn’t for the fact that she was super old, Ms. Jenkins would be her people. “I’ve always wanted to live there. It’s in my five-year plan.” 

“Well, if you want, I can tell you a little bit about the city from an insider’s perspective while we’re in my office. And then you can tell me a little bit about yourself. Tit for tat. I trust you with some of my feelings and you trust me with some of yours.” 

…It does make sense for two birds of immaculate feathers to flock together, right? Especially if Ms. Jenkins can give some pointers about the best, most exclusive stores in the city to shop at. The kind of stores where she’d find an outfit so perfect that Harmony’ll choke from the jealousy and beg Cordelia to reinstate their friendship so that she can be within five feet of luxury. 

“Yeah, okay. I guess I could use someone to talk to.” 

Ms. Jenkins smiles gently. “I suspected as much. And my office is even near the front desk so we can have Mrs. Clark write you up whatever note you need to miss as much class as you wish while we talk. Aaaand I might be able to talk her into letting us make an espresso order. I think that the local coffee shop does deliveries now. Anything you want, my treat.”

“Ms. Jenkins, you are seriously on the fast track to becoming my favourite person here.” 

Espresso, insider tips about LA, and not having to see any of the loser gang in her classes? This is the gift that keeps on giving.

“It’s my pleasure,” Ms. Jenkins says as she starts to walk, bidding Cordelia to follow. “And please, feel free to call me Anya.” 


	2. Chapter 2

The scene changes, but the wishers never do. 

This new century gives her spinning chairs with no back support instead of velvet settees and sips of burning hot and overly sweetened coffee instead of stolen nips of sherry. It traded the way that she had to wriggle into uncomfortably stiff crinolines for the way that she had to try to shove her long legs beneath a desk made of vinyl and polymer. But the one thing that time could never touch or steal was the mortal piety for fame and fortune.

“Once I graduate from high-school, Daddy is going to set me up with a nice apartment in L.A. I really want a penthouse, but Daddy thinks it’ll be good for me to learn to live like other people, so we’re going to look at three-bedroom apartments. I’d even settle for two if the closet space is generous, but obviously I’m not even going to LOOK at a one-bedroom or a studio. I mean, okay, I get the whole practicing humility thing that my parents are going for but I’m not going to live like an animal. They might as well set me up with a nice cardboard box on the side of a highway if they’re going to start talking about having my bed right next to my kitchen. But, anyway, I’ll start out with a three-bedroom and work my way up to a penthouse once I’ve been discovered as an actress. I don’t think that’ll take too long, maybe just a few weeks before I’m scouted. Daddy knows a lot of important people in Hollywood who’d walk across broken glass to get a girl like me to star in one of their movies. And once I’ve been in a few movies and started earning enough of my own money, I’ll -” 

Anya takes another gulp of her coffee and fights to keep her expression politely interested in Cordelia’s description of her five-year-plan. It hadn’t taken any prodding at all to get her talking about herself and what she wants, she’d started describing the stores that she’d been to in L.A previously the moment that she settled into the overstuffed cushioned chair on the opposite side of Anya’s desk, only stopping to give her coffee order before she was back at it. Moving away from her parents, finding instant success… the only difference between her dreams for the future and the dreams of the ghosts of wishers’ past was that Cordelia didn’t have to whisper these things like a secret. They were facts as far as she was concerned, as true as the genetic code that made up her person.

“Success is in my blood,” Cordelia says, inspecting her nails. “I’m going to get out of this one-Starbucks town and never look back.” 

Anya presses her lips hard against the rim of her coffee to hide her smile. Getting a wish out of her shouldn't be any trouble at all.

“Well, I can say with certainty that it’s not a stretch to expect great things from you,” She says as she sets her coffee to the side and clasps her hands together where they rest on the desk. “In fact, I think it’s pretty remarkable that you know exactly what you want for your future and how to accomplish it. There aren’t many people your age who would be that certain about what lies ahead for them after high-school. I’m very impressed.” 

Cordelia preens at the compliment, sitting up a little straighter and smiling a superior smirk. For all the confidence that she exuded, there’s something fragile underneath. The insecurity that hides in the shadows of every hair toss and glossy-lipped grin. And it’s that tender vulnerability that Anya has her sights on. A little more flattery and it’d be on full display for her to lure out into the front.

Words to twist. Blood to be spilled. Vengeance sated. The pendant on her necklace warms against her skin, the living dark energy within it sensing Anya's mood shifting and it pushes and pulls in response, ready to be freed.

“But,” Anya says, delicately, watching as the conjunction takes some of the glow from Cordelia’s aura. “As great as I think it is that you know what you want for your future… what about right now? There’s a lot of life to be lived before graduation. Months before you can settle into your life in L.A. How are you going to handle that with everything that's going on?" 

Cordelia’s expression becomes sour enough to turn milk into cottage cheese, “I’m not worrying about the now. As far as I’m concerned, the rest of high-school is just the bridge I have to cross to superstardom. None of this means anything.” 

“Do you really think that?” Anya asks, keeping her tone as light and sympathetic as possible. “I’m not sure that you do. And I understand that you might not want to dwell on the moment. Maybe it even seems easier to keep your eyes set on a future where you’re already past all of this. High-school is hell on earth for everyone, but I don’t think anyone in this school is hurting as much as you are right now.” 

“I’m not hurting,” Cordelia says, and Anya can taste the lie in the air like black smoke from burnt rubber. “I’m doing great.” 

“…I heard all of what those girls were saying to you in the hall,” Anya says, switching tactics. If flattery and making her out to be the center of the universe, even if that universe is made of pain, won’t work then she’ll try some humiliation. Indignation can start a sentence with “I wish” faster than anything. “They insinuated that you were beneath them because you’d been cheated on. That didn’t hurt you at all to hear that?” 

“I don’t care -” 

“What Harmony thinks of you?” she interjects before Cordelia can start lying again. The lies just make her hungrier to dig out the truth. “Maybe that’s true. But what about everyone else you go to school with? It’s a very painful thing, to be deemed subhuman because of a man’s actions. I know that from experience. I’ve been through this too.” 

“Really,” venom drips from Cordelia’s tone. “You caught your boyfriend making out with his best friend in an abandoned factory and then fell through a set of stairs and got impaled on a piece of pipe?” 

“…Alright, so I haven’t been in this exact situation,” Anya amended, biting the inside of her cheek impatiently. So close… she can sense that Cordelia’s fortitude is wearing thin. “And, no. I didn’t catch my boyfriend kissing his best friend. But my husband cheated on me with a woman he met at a bar. One night after work, he goes drinking instead of coming home… and my entire life is flipped upside down because of his decision.” 

“Oh.” Cordelia has the grace to look ashamed, taking the bait and swallowing the hook with it. "I'm sorry."

“It's alright. What's past is past. And I wouldn’t normally speak so candidly about my personal life with a student but I think it’s important that you know that you’re not the only woman who has ever gone through this or the only one who will. I know how unfair it is to have your worth diminished because of something someone did to you. He cheated and you’re punished for it. He was unfaithful and you get blamed for not holding his attention. You get laughed at and whispered about and he continues life as it always was. It’s normal — it’s healthy, even, to be hurt by this or to want to see him in as much pain as you’re going through.” 

“I don’t want to see him in pain. I don’t want to see him at all,” Cordelia says, fiercely. She crosses her arms over her chest and Anya curses internally. Prodding at her wounds hadn’t caused them to start bleeding again. She was just doubling down on hiding them. “Xander Harris does not get to ruin me. He’s not good enough to breathe the same air as me. Who cares if I lo - liked him? It was temporary insanity. He wishes he meant enough to me for me to be hurt."

She stands and smiles, dusting off her skirt and picking up her own coffee. 

“He was unfaithful and I got blamed, but you know what? I’m not wearing that red A on my shirt over it. He can't break my heart because you can't ruin what you can't touch. You didn’t let your husband ruin your entire life, right? Then I’m not going to let some high-school fling touch mine. The only part of me he’s going to see down in the dirt is the heel of my shoe before it crushes him. He’s going to get a bellyful of how over him I am and then we’ll see who’s in pain and who’s getting the last laugh.” 

“Cordelia, I’m not sure if -” 

“Thank you, Ms. Jenkins.” Cordelia interrupted, too gleeful over her epiphany to hear any of Anya’s interjections. “You were totally right. I should think about these moments too. And I’m going to use every single one of them to prove that my crown can’t be worn by anyone but me. Harmony, Xander, and every other loser in this school are going to remember who I am. You’re seriously the best. We should totally do this again. I can see myself skipping a lot of math classes for these little pep talks. You’re great, but I gotta go.” 

“I haven’t assessed that you’re ready to -” 

“Bye!” 

Anya watches as Cordelia storms out the door in a whirlwind of brown leather and expensive perfume, on the warpath and ready to take on the challenges of the day… totally inspired, totally invigorated… and without making a single wish. And she leans back in her chair and sighs with exasperation, stroking her fingertips over the pendant nestled into the hollow of her throat as if to soothe it when it burns against her skin again, as impatient as she feels.

...This might be harder than she thought it was going to be.


	3. Chapter 3

Anya’s back in the teacher’s lounge. 

She’s seen less dismal spaces in hell. The fluorescent lighting lends a sickly gleam to everything it touches and the walls are covered in art and clumsily scrawled thank-you notes addressed to teachers past and present. The room - the air - smells like lemon cleaner, stale coffee, and whatever the microwave had been last used for. It smells depressing, and she hadn’t really considered the possibility that she’d have to enter this room more than once, and now her teeth are clenched and her nails are biting into the palms of her hand. If Cordelia isn’t going to be lured into making a wish by conventional means of conversation then she’d have to search for a different angle. She’s not sure WHAT angle, but giving the one-on-one informal therapy session a take two would be a waste of time and she’s always been more proactive than that - 

D’Hoffryn expects more than that from her. She’s never been one to twiddle her thumbs and wait for the next opportunity to land in front of her. Maybe if she’d disguised herself as a classmate, rather than an adult, it would be easier to find the next opening to bait Miss Chase into a wish. But, god, who wants to be sixteen again? Anya thinks she’d rather have to eat her own boiled eyes than sit through a math class. She just has to be practical — what are other reasons for a high-school student to see a counselor? There has to be something; a hook that she could dangle and use to rip out Cordelia’s insides with as soon as she swallowed it down. Something that she just hadn’t thought of -

“Oh! Hello, Anya.” 

Anya turns from where she’d been glaring at a thank you note as if IT was the reason that this wasn’t the cut-and-dry case of revenge that she’d expected it would be and quickly composes her expression into one of bland professionalism as she finds herself face-to-face with the computer science teacher that she’d met once before. What was her name? Janice? Julie? Oh, hell. 

“Good morning,” Anya says, evading using any name altogether. “I’m sorry, am I in your way?” 

“Not at all. I was just surprised to see that anyone else was in here,” the J-named woman said. “I’m used to being able to better hide my caffeine addiction — I’m the only one with a free period, right now, but I guess that wouldn’t matter to your schedule.” 

“Mm,” Anya responds because her mind is stuck still trying to figure out what she’s going to do about her situation with Cordelia but she knows that she has to give some kind of answer to keep from seeming too strange. Flying under the radar is the most important part of her line of work and there’s something in this woman’s eyes that seems almost too knowing — something that makes her seem like she sees more than anyone would expect her to. 

If her lack of enthusiasm bothers Jenny - JENNY, her mind exclaims. That’s her name! - she doesn’t let it on. Just walks around her to the coffee pot, picking it up and carrying it to the double sink to dump the old murky liquid out. 

“How are you settling in?” 

Oh, god.

Small talk. 

Humans have the unsettling need to fill the silence with their own voices, eating away at all the peace because they were too afraid of their own thoughts to be left alone with them. And while Anya could sympathize, she could barely tolerate the meaningless conversations about the weather and evening plans and whatever else she might get asked about. She could blame a thousand years of only interacting with humans long enough to destroy their lives but, if she’s being honest with herself, she was never quite in tune with this part of the mortal experience. 

But she has to try. And so she does. “It’s… a unique experience. Sunnydale isn’t exactly what I imagined it would be.” 

Jenny’s lips quirk, “You know, I think we get that a lot.” 

There’s something unspoken in that remark and if Anya was in a better mood, she might have prodded at it. Pulled that thread until it came undone because the only thing that nagged at her in the back of her mind as much about what she’s going to do about Cordelia is how it is that all of these people could live in a town like this and not notice that anything was amiss. But she’s not a better mood and she doesn’t feel like prodding at anything. 

Anya sits at one of the two round tables and pretends to pay attention to the tiny, box television that was mounted up in the corner, hoping that having her interest somewhere else would discourage Jenny from continuing any conversation. It’s a thin line to walk on, trying to stay polite enough that nothing about her resonates deeply within anyone she came into contact with… while also trying to be impolite enough that she doesn’t forage a bond with anyone and, again, accidentally resonate deeply within them. 

She misses the days of carnage and mayhem without social politics. Those were the days. Back then, a girl like Cordelia would be frothing at the mouth to make a wish. What does it take to get modern teenagers to open up? Maybe she could play to her obvious insecurities and have a session with Xander, next. Let Cordelia see and make assumptions — maybe her jealousy or her defensive nature would kick in and she would spill her heart to Anya just to keep her from taking the boy’s side. Maybe -

“That’s an interesting necklace.” 

Jenny is interrupting, again. Anya feels a hot stab of something in her gut. Irritation, maybe? It’s been a while since she was really annoyed with anything — a finer part of being unattached to the world around her if she says so herself. 

“Thank you,” Anya says, smiling through her irritable thoughts. “It’s a family heirloom.” 

“It’s pretty.” 

Is Anya imagining things, or is there something in Jenny’s tone that makes her sound like she knows too much? If Hallie were here, she’d laugh in Anya’s face and tell her that she’s getting too paranoid in her old age — that she was starting to sound like D’Hoffryn just as much as she worshiped the ground he walked on. But Hallie ISN’T here. It’s just the two of them and something in Jenny’s gaze is gleaming with an unspoken SOMETHING. 

Anya doesn’t like it.

Humans should not be mysterious.

Especially not computer science teaching humans. None of the other staff members that Anya had been forced into socializing with had even noticed the necklace. Or, if they had, they didn’t ask her about it. Why was this one? Did she want to steal it? Did she know anything about demons? Did she have a great-great-great-grandmother who made a wish and went on to tell her family about the woman with the necklace who granted it? 

Anya decides that she hates this woman and the confusion that comes with talking to her.

“Thank you,” She says, shortly, trying to reign in her suspicions. Who is this woman? No one at all. Just a teacher — what would she know about Anya outside of the persona that she had created for herself? Unless she was a demon, herself, there was no way that she could possibly see through —

“How long have you been in Sunnydale, now? A week?” 

“Nine days,” Anya says, immediately. 

“And I bet you spent at least seven of them here, right?” Jenny asks, her tone sympathetic. “Can I take you out? You know, let you get a good look at everything that Sunnydale has to offer? I could show you the one coffee shop, the club that we’re too old to have fun at… the really interesting shrub? You know, those are actually the only three things I can think of that Sunnydale has, but you should still see them in person.” 

“Why would you want to do that?” 

Anya’s too surprised to remember to be tactful. No one else has made her an offer like that — in fact, Snyder had ripped the page about a retirement package off of the employee manual because he’d assured her that she wouldn’t be there long enough to gain any benefits and made it clear that everyone expected her to be gone within two weeks. 

Either eaten or quit, she thinks, though no one said as much out loud.

Jenny surprises her by laughing. “I was the new kid in town, once. I know how rough things can be when you haven’t started to build a social circle. I only recently broke out of the habit of talking to my computers about my day when I’m grading coding projects. Plus, you’re the school counselor. You probably never get to talk about yourself to anyone. And I, for one, am interested to hear all about you.” 

She sounds sincere. 

But that doesn’t make it a good idea. She should reject the idea and work out the details of whatever new plan she could make to corner Cordelia again. She’s never needed a friend before, why should she start now? Especially with someone who has the secret smile of someone who knows more than is good for them or anyone else. 

“That sounds great,” Anya says, in direct violation of her thoughts. “Especially the part about the club we’re too old to have fun in. I bet I could prove you wrong.” 

Did she really just say yes? 

Why the hell did she say yes? 

“Great,” Jenny’s answering smile is bright and unabashed this time. “What time should I pick you up?” 

She has to know what this woman knows that makes her smile like that. That’s the reason she said yes, she tells herself. She just needs to know how much this woman knows or thinks that she knows. And then, when it’s nothing at all, she can relax and regroup. 

“You name the time and I’ll be ready,” Anya says, answering Jenny’s smile with her own. 

After all, what’s the worst that could happen? 


	4. Chapter 4

As if things weren’t already crappy enough, the sound of Xander’s laughter rang out in the silence between songs and almost turned her head. If it wasn’t for the sickening pain that came with twisting her upper body, she might have been made eye-contact with the geek squad and been completely compromised. As it was, she could feel the plastic smile falling from her lips and her fingers strained under the pressure that it took to keep herself from crushing the red, plastic cup of soda that she had in her hands. 

There should be a law. 

A rule. 

A _settlement_. 

It should be simple, this division of assets. Xander gets to keep his loser friends post-breakup and she gets the Bronze. How could he even show his face here after what he did to her? All those desperate little phone calls he was still making to her house, pleading for the chance to talk to her… and he’s at a club, laughing like he’s in on some secret joke with the whole world? It’s not enough that he cheated on her, disfigured her, and came out on the other side with a new reputation for being some kind of player while her social standing was in tatters — but he had to be here, too? Enjoying himself, while she had to get her own drinks and hang on the edges of other people’s conversations, desperately seeking a way back in on the “in”? 

Rage tastes like copper on her tongue — hot and metallic, with the gulp of diet coke that she takes not being enough to cool the rising flush in her body down. She wants to scream; wants to rage and cry and throw things… but she doesn’t, because she’d rather give herself an ulcer with all the repressing that she’s doing than admit, even for a second, that Xander was still on her mind. So she puts that smile back on her mouth, sets her cup down, and reaches out to gently caress her fingertips against the wrist of the guy who just sat down next to her, bringing his attention back onto her. He’s cute and he doesn’t go to their school, so there’s a chance he doesn’t know that she’s been branded a leper by her peers. And that’s enough for her, right now. A little attention… and a whole lot of Xander seeing her moving on.

“Cool ring,” She says, once she’s got the stranger’s attention. “Don’t tell me… State Championship?” 

“Uh, no. Actually, it’s a promise ring,” He says, pulling his hand back away from hers and waving his hand a little, letting the silver band catch the light. “My girlfriend and I got accepted to different colleges — total bummer. She was worried about me meeting a campus babe to replace her, so I came up with the idea that we could -” 

Yawn. 

The smile on her face never wavers and she artfully tucks her hair behind her ear, tilting her head every so often to make it seem like she’s hanging on every boring word he says, but on the inside Cordy’s dying a thousand and one cruel, tiny deaths as she waits for him to quit yammering on about his high-school sweetheart who was dumb enough to think that he’d stay faithful just ‘cause he got her a piece of jewelry. 

“-and I think it made her feel better, but we still call every day.” He concludes, finally. “That probably sounds silly but trust me, kid. You’ll understand the feeling when you get to college.” 

“Really? Wow.” Cordelia’s voice sounds flat to her own ears and when another peal of Xander’s laughter echoes in the few seconds of silence that follows, she nearly crushes her cup again. What the hell is so funny that he’s over there having the time of his life while she’s being talked down to by the same kind of Frat Guy who would have tried to pick her up just a few months ago? “Thanks for the tip.” 

This is too much humiliation for one night. She steps down gracefully from the barstool and says goodbye to a blonde whose name she doesn’t remember just to feel like someone is going to notice when she leaves. If she can just push her way through the crowd and maybe keep her head down, Xander won’t notice her leaving alone and will think that she left with a - ow! 

All of the air leaves Cordelia’s lungs in a single exhale when a body bumps into hers, a bony elbow jabbing into the bandaged wound that she’d hidden so carefully underneath her dress. She grasps at it instinctively, sucking back in a small lungful of air just to make sure that she can still breathe at all before she stalks toward the door, giving up entirely on the idea of a dignified retreat and realigning her goals with just getting the hell out of there with all of her stitches intact. 

✧

“Well, what do you know? It turns out that if you take your time, walk slowly, and really appreciate all the finer things that Sunnydale has to offer… you can kill fifteen whole minutes.” 

Anya almost smiles at Jenny’s joke. “Who would have thought that such a tiny town could house so much trouble?” 

“Trouble?” 

The urge to laugh that Anya had been feeling immediately dissipated and she swore, internally, for her slip of the tongue. Coming out with Jenny had proved to be both a fruitless venture and a dangerous one — though Ms. Calendar, herself, had yet to give away anything that Anya could use to solve the mystery around her, the kindling sense of “friendship” had apparently loosened her own tongue. Luckily, this wasn’t a mistake that she couldn’t bounce back from with ease.

“You should hear the stories that these kids tell me,” Anya says, breezily, even as she sneaks a furtive look in her direction in the hope of seeing some sign that Jenny was readily accepting her explanation for the odd word choice. “Or, maybe you shouldn’t. I certainly can’t repeat them — but there is something to be said for the imagination around here.” That’s a good line. Something an outsider would say, Anya thinks. And Jenny seems to buy it and that moment of tension that had been suspended in the air melts away. 

“I always thought that it must take a really special kind of person to be a counselor,” Jenny said, offering up the compliment unexpectedly. “I have enough trouble sorting out my own life, I can’t imagine how hard it must be to try to organize everyone else. Especially kids.” 

“I’m very good at my job,” Anya said, truthfully, because it wasn’t as though she had to specify which job she excelled at. “My boss — my old boss, I mean, would tell me that I was born for it. A natural in the field like he’d never seen. Hallie couldn’t stand that; she’d always say that I was too work-oriented and never made time for anything else.” 

“Hallie? Oh, your girlfriend?” 

“My -” 

This time she does laugh, but it’s more the shock of hearing the word “Hallie” and “girlfriend” in the same sentence than it is that Jenny was particularly funny. As good a friend as Anya thought of her as being, the idea of being… they were incompatible as anything more than that. They were too different in their career goals. Anya wanted to be the next D’Hoffryn. Hallie just wanted a day job and the perks that came with it. 

“Hallie and I are not dating,” Anya confirmed, shaking her head with residual disbelief at the thought. “We’re just friends. We met through work and sometimes that’s the only thing we have in common.” 

“No girlfriend, then. What about a boyfriend? Husband?” 

There was something… strange in the way that Jenny was asking. Something that Anya couldn’t quite put into words, just knew the feeling as she heard it. But before she could put much more thought into it or answer the question, the sound of a familiar voice caught her attention and she turned her head just in time to see Cordelia Chase picking a piece of garbage out of her hair and advancing in the direction of a blonde girl who looked vaguely familiar… though Anya couldn’t remember the name to put to a face.

“You know what I’ve been asking myself a lot, this last week? Why me? Why do I get impaled? Why do I get bitten by snakes? Why do I fall for incredible losers? And you know, I think I've finally figured it out, what my problem is? It's...” Cordelia trailed off, catching Anya’s gaze. “Ms. Jenkins?” 

“Ms. Jenkins is your problem?” The other girl asked, uncomprehendingly, before she turned and saw Anya and Jenny standing in the opening to the alleyway, staring down at them. “Oh! Um, hi. Ms. Calendar! What are you doing here?” 

“I was just showing the newest staff member around the town. I thought I might even subject her to the Bronze… are you girls okay? What are you doing out here in the dark?” 

“Uh, we were just… um… talking. It’s so loud and crowded in the Bronze, you know? You can’t have a decent conversation, so I thought that my friend Cordelia and I -” 

“I’m not your friend,” Cordelia interrupted, earning herself an exasperated look from the Buffy girl, whose pitiful lie was already unraveling before she could spit it all the way out. She started away from the scene of… whatever had been going on, wobbling on uncertain legs and grimacing in pain. “Now, if you’ll excuse me? I have a life to live as far away from you as possi-ow!” 

She froze in place, hand hovering over her abdomen like she wasn’t sure if she wanted to grasp the source of the pain or not. Anya stepped forward without thinking, putting her hands on the girl’s shoulder and steadying her. Almost all the colour had drained from Cordelia’s face, she realized. Her lips were practically white and her cheeks bloodless. 

“What’s wrong? Cordelia?” Anya asked, her voice low as she stepped to shield her from Buffy’s view, unthinkingly. Something had clearly happened, here, and she wasn’t about to risk her wisher to come teenager with a vendetta — not before she got a wish out of her. “Are you hurt?” 

“I -” Cordelia swallowed, hard, gripping Anya’s arm. “I think I just pulled some stitches. Buffy and one of her super special pals knocked me into the garbage.” 

“It was an accident!” Buffy protested. “I was saving your - uh, evening. You know, with the conversation we were having? I didn’t expect the roughhousing, either, and I made him go away didn’t I?” 

“Why don’t I get you to the hospital?” Anya suggested, speaking over the other girl now. Of all the stupid, reckless — imagine if a Wisher died, before they could make a wish? What would D’Hoffryn think? What would Hallie say? God, she’d never live it down. “Come on. I’ll call your parents when we get there.” 

“Don’t bother. They’re on vacation,” Cordelia muttered, leaning against Anya as she hobbled forward, clutching at her abdomen with one hand. “What a perfect ending to a craptacular night. You know, sometimes I really wish -” 

“Wait up!” Jenny hurried forward, gently taking Cordelia’s other arm. “It’ll be easier if I help. We can both carry her if she faints and I know where the hospital is so — Anya, are you okay?” 

If looks could kill, Jenny would be a corpse on the ground, tinged green with decay. There wasn’t a single word that she could sputter out, nothing she could say in any language that could accurately describe how badly she wanted to let go of Cordelia and get her hands around the other woman’s throat because she had been so close to making her wish! She would have said it if she hadn’t been interrupted! She grits her teeth together with an audible snap and Cordelia turns her head, too, looking at her with surprise. 

Composure. 

She can’t unravel now, as tempting as it is. 

“Yes. I’m fine,” she said, smiling as if she weren't imagining the unholy terror she could unleash in a moment’s notice if she weren't bound by those two, stupid words. I wish… “I was just surprised to hear that Cordelia’s parents are out of town at a time like now. That’s all.” 

“We’ll get her home,” Jenny said, something soft in her expression now as they resumed helping Cordelia amble forward. “I’ll go and get my car while you get her checked in at the hospital. And I promise not to bail — trust me, this isn’t the worst turn of events to happen during one of my dates.” 

“Hello? I’m bleeding here? Can you guys do the old person chatting later?” Cordelia snapped, abruptly ending that conversation before Anya could even begin to process what Jenny meant by “date”. 


	5. Chapter 5

Anya’s body may have been sitting at the uncomfortable second-hand wooden desk in her office but her mind was dimensions away. The ghosts of wishers past had been haunting her since she had delivered Cordelia Chase to her home the night before; the sour taste of another failure had coated her tongue, preventing her from forming the words that might have goaded her into finishing the wish that she had started to make in the alley. Failure was a seven-letter word that no one would find in her vocabulary and now that she was being forced to experience its definition…

She traced the scarred surface of the desk absentmindedly, fingertips feeling for the gouges against the wood and tracing the overlapping dark rings left behind by dripping mugs of coffee from whoever owned this desk previously. Maybe it was these conditions — she’d always done her best work with women like Cordelia in the past, the ones who were accustomed to having everything; so accustomed that they would do anything to get it all back again because they’d never survive the shock of the world outside of their cushioned bubble, but look at these surroundings.

_High-school!_

Anya was no stranger to the interior of a hell dimension and yet this purgatory outmatched anything even she could have dreamed up. Every wisher that she had ever tricked before was surrounded by what they could no longer have. A cheating husband who flaunted his affair with younger women while his wife was stuck in a marriage she couldn’t afford to leave. A lying lover who promised to leave his wife but returned to her side every day and left the younger woman so close to what she couldn’t attain. There was always something tangible ahead, something that they were just out of reach of… but here? What could possibly look appealing to Cordelia under these fluorescents? 

Popularity. Her previous reputation. A little (or a lot) of suffering from the boy who had broken her body and soul. Anya knew her motivations, could taste them in the air… but god. High-school. Is there anyone who could believe in their violent revenge fantasies while dressing down for gym? 

A knock at her door startled her out of her reverie and she stole a glance at the clock. Oh, god. Only 10:45 a.m and someone is already bothering her. If she’d known that kids would have so many problems to talk about, she wouldn’t have ever taken this disguise… 

“Come in.” 

The door opened and a student peeked in. “Am I disturbing you?” 

Anya forced herself to smile, feeling the veneer of the “counselor” snap back into place. “Of course not. Good morning, come take a seat.” 

She can’t remember the kid’s name — why are there so many of them in this place? — so she just smiles as she watches him stiffly cross the room. Every step was calculated and the information that she had absorbed to assume this roll came to the front of her mind, unbidden, aggravating her when she realized that she was already assuming that this was a kid who had issues giving up control and probably got into a fight with his teacher about how to do an assignment correctly or had a rough morning at home with the parents who he had inherited his issues from. God, she couldn’t wait to be someone else again. 

“I have a problem,” the student said as soon as he settled into his seat, speaking before Anya could remember that she was supposed to ask him what was wrong. He didn’t meet her gaze, even as she straightened her shoulders to give the impression that she cared at all about what she had to say; effectively forcing her to waste her cunning posturing. “And I believe that you can help me.” 

“I can certainly try. Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?” 

“This assignment… it’s taking longer than I thought it would. Even with one so talented in charge of its success. I’m beginning to believe that it may be… a lost cause. A first failure.” 

He met her gaze, then, lifting his head so that she could see his eyes. They were dark, no difference between the iris and the pupil, and Anya quickly sat up straight, banging her knee against the underside of the stupid, tiny desk as he continued, his voice light but clearly mocking.

“What should I do about it?” 

“D’Hoffryn!” Anya gasped, confusion and unease colliding and forming a pit of anxiety in her stomach. “I didn’t recognize — what are you doing here?” 

“Looking for some reason to let you continue this futile effort,” there was pity in his expression… or something close to it. His face, which was not his face, was hard to look at now that Anya knew that this was her boss. “This is the longest that you’ve ever been on one assignment, Anyanka, and you’ve made no progress. There are many of other scorned women out there, I can’t have you spending all of your energy on one little girl.” 

“It’s… it’s proving to be a little more difficult than I thought,” Anya stammered out, incredulously. D’Hoffryn had never questioned her work before — was this what it had come to? “But I’m very close now. I have a plan.” 

That’s a lie. 

She’s lying to him.

Another first, but a necessary one. She knows that failure isn’t exactly uncommon in this line of work; humans can be infuriatingly forgiving and constantly willing to work toward bettering themselves for some impossibly stupid reason. Even Hallie has had to wash her hands of children who couldn’t bring themselves to wish a downfall on their terrible parents. It happens to the best of them… and yet, she grits her teeth against any possible admittance of defeat. 

“Anyanka,” D’Hoffryn clucks his tongue disapprovingly, an expression that feels even more uncomfortable than it is when comes with the cherub cheeks of a student. “You’re avoiding the inevitable. Dragging this out won’t make it any easier for you when you ultimately fail. To utilize a human expression, why don’t you just take this one on the chin?” 

“I don’t need to,” Anya snapped before she could stop herself. She regretted her tone as soon as it shaped her words… but refused to back down. “I have a handle on the situation. I won’t be here for much longer either way but I’d prefer to leave on a wish.” 

He sighed and there were eons of tension in that simple exhale. It wasn’t beyond his power to force her to give up on this wisher and the idea that he might was terrifying to her. Terrifying… and infuriating. How long had she been doing this? How many successes paved her way to a career to rival his? Hadn’t she earned her fair share of trust by now? 

The silence stretched for an unbearable amount of time before he sighed again, tilting his head back to gaze at her impassively. “Fine. You have 24 human hours in which to get a wish from the girl. If you haven’t managed it in that time, then you are leaving. Either of your own free will or by mine. Do you understand?” 

Rage flickered in her again but she swallowed hard against the lump in her throat. “…I understand.” 

“Good.” He rose stiffly from his seat and took the same measured movements back from the door, apparently choosing a dramatic exit over a convenient one. Anya knows that he can teleport at will; this is for her benefit. “I know you won’t disappoint. And Anya?” 

“Yes?” 

“Perhaps you’d find quicker success if you focused on the wisher, instead of on courting the mortal woman.” 

The door shut behind him before she could stammer out a response. 

✧

When she found herself staring down her first free period of the day, Jenny made a beeline for the break room and made a pot of strong coffee. She grabbed a hand-painted mug from the cupboard above the microwave — a token from pottery classes past — and leaned against the counter, waiting impatiently for the machine to drip out the only thing that was going to keep her from handing out detentions to every rowdy class that she had to sit through. Patience wasn’t necessarily her strong suit, to begin with, and she really didn’t envy whoever was going to be the first person to make her snap on just three hours of sleep and lingering disappointment. 

Her “date” with Anya had been… interesting. Even before they’d run into Buffy and Cordelia in the alleyway by the Bronze. The tour of Sunnydale had been surprisingly simple with no rogue vampire attacks, threats of an impending apocalypse, or whatever else might ruin a night out in this town, but the woman who had been beside her was anything but simple. That aura about her, the feeling that had prompted Jenny to ask her out in the first place, was still there when they met outside of the school. But it felt less like attraction and more like intrigue… okay, yes, there was still attraction but there was also a lot of confusion. 

She wasn’t like any of the teachers that Snyder had hired before, but Jenny would be hard-pressed to explain exactly what the difference was. Confidence, maybe? Fearlessness? Both? The outsiders to Sunnydale were quick to leave, assuming they survived long enough to come to their senses. It was that fight or flight response, even if they didn’t know it. And the people who had been born and raised here were careful on a subconscious level. Anya didn’t give off either of those vibes. Not even when she mentioned the “stories” that kids would tell her. It wouldn’t have taken a genius to guess what she meant by that; Jenny had never given much thought to the stories that these students must have to tell about things that happened on the Hellmouth but it seems glaringly obvious to her now. Of course, these kids would tell a trusted adult about the terrifying things they went through. 

One story could be written off as imagination. Three stories could be a prank. But four? Five? Ten? How many stories and from how many students would it take to convince Anya that something strange was going on here? How many had she heard already? Probably more than anyone could withstand but she hadn’t sounded afraid when she mentioned it. She didn’t even sound like she was fishing for some kind of reaction from Jenny. Didn’t ask if she had ever heard these stories before. Either kids everywhere were imaginative or this just wasn’t news to Anya. 

The coffee pot shuddered out one last gargled sigh before it fell silent, bringing Jenny back from her musings, and she poured herself a cup and went to the fridge for some milk, stealing a glance at the spot where Anya had been sitting when Jenny asked her out. 

The counselor was pretty. 

Smart. 

And funny. Not often on purpose, but she still made Jenny laugh a lot more last night than she had in months. By all appearances, there was nothing wrong with her at all. Could that be what was so unnerving to Jenny? The total lack of obvious evil? A night out going fine until they had to take a student to the hospital to fix her stitches? Maybe anticipating disaster was making her irrational. But since when did ignoring intuition do anyone any favours on the Hellmouth? 

She took a gulp of her coffee and tossed the wooden stirrer into the trash on her way out the door, smiling to herself. Okay, so maybe something about Anya felt… different. But last night had been fun. Maybe she’d ask her out again, either to destroy that last bit of uncertainty about her or to get a better sense of — _shit!_

Jenny swore internally as she had to quickly take a step to the side to avoid colliding with Rupert. The coffee in her mug sloshed dangerously but, mercifully, didn’t spill and she quickly steadied her hand as she stepped against the wall to avoid tempting fate twice. 

“Jenn - Ms. Calendar,” Rupert amended, reaching out like he might try to help steady her but stopping at the last second, apparently thinking better of it. “I’m sorry, that was my fault. I’ve been distracted. Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine, Rupert.” Jenny tried to smile at him, but it felt forced and she let it slip back away, opting to keep her expression neutral instead. “My mind was elsewhere, so let’s just say that both parties are at fault. We don’t even have to exchange insurance numbers if you don’t want to.” 

He didn’t smile at her joke.

She didn’t really think that he would. 

“I was just on my way to the library,” Rupert said, quietly. Jenny fought back the urge to tell him that he didn’t owe her explanations about his whereabouts. They had decided that they would keep working in the same building, after all, it was expected that they’d see each other at least once a week. But he had those puppy-dog eyes and there’s no stopping him once he gets started, so she occupies her mouth with a sip of coffee and tries to ignore the pang of… loss that she feels in the absence of the fond exasperation that used to fill her when he’d get like this. “I’ve been doing some research on — you were out with Ms. Jenkins last night, yes?” 

The sudden subject change gives her whiplash and it takes her a second to respond. “…Yes?” 

For a moment, she wonders how he knew that, but the answer comes to her almost as quickly as the question did. Buffy. They’d seen her last night and she probably mentioned it in passing to Rupert when she was reporting on how her night went. She clears her throat. 

“Yes. She’s new to Sunnydale and I thought I’d be the driver of the Welcome Wagon.” 

“May I ask how it went?” 

“…Should you?” Jenny glances down into her coffee, looking for the answer from her distorted reflection in hits murky depths since she knows she probably won’t get one from him. “Look, I know you’re trying, but I -” 

“It’s not that,” Rupert says, quickly, stopping Jenny before she can pick that conversation back up. Which she’s actually grateful for because that circle of reasoning doesn’t do anything but make them both dizzy and sick of each other. “It’s… did you happen to get a look at the necklace that Ms. Jenkins wears? Did she have it on when you were showing her around?” 

That’s the furthest thing from any topic that Jenny thought he might pick up. “I think so? Why is that important?” 

“I don’t know,” Rupert admits, pulling his glasses from his face and polishing them with his tie. “Something about it is familiar to me, but I can’t quite remember what. I thought you might have some idea. I was planning on looking into it this afternoon.” 

That’s an invitation.

Quietly offered but undeniable and Jenny tilts her head back and stares at the ceiling now since her coffee didn’t have the answers she needed. God, the library. Jenny hasn’t stepped foot in there since their last fight. Time heals all wounds, sure, but it had only been three weeks. And maybe she was ready to forgive Rupert for the argument and admit her own fault in it… but what about the rest of it? Angel’s return from hell, the secret that Buffy kept and that he’d then tried to keep Jenny from discovering. The nightmares of how Angelus had tried to kill her; her fear that she would turn a corner and there he would be, ready to finish the job that he had started, now come to reality…

Was she ready to forgive him for all of that? For trying to keep her from discovering that the man who had almost murdered her was welcomed back? Was she ready to sit through the implied expectation that she forgive Angel, too? Could she do either of those things, was she even capable of it? 

Rupert’s still staring at her expectantly and Jenny turns her thoughts away from Angel and thinks of Anya instead. Pretty, funny, but undeniably strange Anya. Maybe she’s not ready to offer forgiveness, but she has her own questions. If he can help her find an answer…

“Why don’t I come with you?” she says, finally, trying not to notice the way that he smiles when she asks. “I’m planning on establishing a friendship with her. I should know what I’m getting into.” 

“Yes… yes, of course,” Rupert agrees, that smile still on his face, and Jenny wonders if this isn’t karma. She was responsible for Angel’s suffering and, by extension, Buffy’s. Now here’s her own. 

But she keeps that to herself as she follows him down the hall, now, taking another gulp of coffee to settle herself. She’s going to need the caffeine if she’s going to survive this.


End file.
